


Wincest Love Week Fills

by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cursed to be mermaids, First Time, Fluff, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sibling Incest, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wincest Love Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:26:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofcamelot/pseuds/Leahelisabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of prompt fills for wincest love week on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caught in a Storm

All it takes sometimes is one moment, a split second of distraction, a millisecond of distraction, and everything can change. Lightning lit the sky and Sam looked at Dean, chest heaving, flannel half torn off, dirty t-shirt plastered to impossible, beautiful musculature, highlighting every angle. Just for a moment, he looked, and he wanted.   
“SAMMY!” Dean shouted. But it was already too late. A black form rushed at Sam's unprotected side, too close, too quick for Dean to get a shot off. Air left Sam’s lungs in a rush and all he felt were the barest impressions of teeth, claws, and fetid-smelling fur before the lashing of the wind and rain became the rushing torrent of the river.  
He choked and gasped, water filling his throat and lungs. He could no longer tell which way was up as he slammed into rocks and debris in the swollen river. But Sam was always a fighter. There was no chance he would be able to swim but he snatched at each rock with torn and bleeding fingertips. And time was running out. Black spots were already encroaching on his vision. The next blow could be to his head and he knew if he lost consciousness before he managed to stop, that would be it.  
Through water blurred eyes, he saw the next rock coming toward him and a dark spot on its side that gave him hope. As the rough surface scraped the remaining skin off his right side, he shoved his arm inside the hole he had spotted and made a fist, hoping it would be deep enough and small enough to hold as the current gripped his body and tried its best to tear him away from his salvation. He screamed as his body snapped tight and the bones in his forearm snapped under the pressure. The pain followed him down into darkness.

* * *

Pain brought him back. Sharp. Grinding. A snap. And “shh, Sammy, I’ve got you.”  
“D’n?” Sam whispered, then groaned as Dean efficiently splinted his broken arm.  
A sigh of relief. “Damn, you scared the shit out of me. Please don’t do that again.”  
“Wh’r we?” Sam groaned as he tried to sit up.  
“We’re in the car. Can’t go anywhere until this storm blows over.”  
Sam finally managed to pull open his gritty eyelids to see a familiar roof and leather seats that smelled like home. And, up close and personal, the sculpted chest and abs that had so distracted him, this time with nothing to block the view.  
“Sorry, dude, can’t really run the heater because I don’t know how long we’ll be here. And body heat is the best way to warm you up.”  
Sam sighed and snuggled back into his brother’s side. If he could ignore the throbbing of his forearm and the too tight scabbing of the scratches and every single bruise that littered his battered body, this would be exactly the moment he had dreamed about since he was sixteen and realized the warmth that filled him every time his brother was close was more than just regular brotherly affection. And so he relaxed, skin on bare skin, allowing the warmth of Dean to soak into his aching body.  
“It’s ok, Sammy, I’ve got this,” Dean’s spoke softly.  
“L’ve you,” Sam sighed and stretched his neck up to plant a bold kiss on his brother’s jaw. At that moment, Dean smiled fondly and turned to glance down at him and for one short moment, their lips met. And it only takes one moment, just that split second when defenses are down and relief overrides common sense, and everything can change.


	2. Fake Relationship

It was a totally mad idea, worthy of Sam’s sternest bitchface, but honestly, they needed the cash. They weren’t sure how long this hunt was going to take. There was a huge coven in town with at least 20 witches and they could not move on any of them until they had uncovered the entire coven. If they gave themselves away, the witches would scatter and it would be back to square one for them both. And that meant no obvious hunter behaviours, No fake credit cards, no hustling pool, or card games, nothing that would get them into fights. Sam was all about going legit and finding part time jobs but the fact was, they were already tapped out and just needed something to get them through til their first payday. And sure, maybe they would have to change their cover story just a little but Dean was sure they could pull it off.

“I hate this,” Sam scowled as Dean pulled up outside the nondescript white building.

“I know, but you gotta sell it or they’ll know we’re scamming them. All you gotta do is remember the details and be a little more touchy-feely. Should be easy for you. I know how much you like to cuddle,” Dean grinned.

“And how are you planning on pulling this off, Mr no-chick-flick-moments?” The bitchface made a reappearance. 

Dean just grinned wider. “Come on, princess, we'll be late for our appointment.”   
Dean got out of the car and waited for Sam to join him, hand outstretched.

Sam barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes before interlocking his fingers with Dean's and putting on his dimpliest smile.  
“Just remember,” Sam gritted through tightly locked teeth. “When this goes sideways, it was definitely all your fault.”

* * *

“It really is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Plant, Mr Page,” the plump redhead in a lab coat and glasses greeted them as they walked in from the reception area. “Please have a seat.” 

Dean brought out his best grin, “Please, call me Dean, and this is Sammy.” 

“Sam,” his brother interrupted before smiling softly and squeezing Dean's hand. “Only Dean calls me Sammy.” 

The redhead managed to keep it together but if she hadn't been so professional, she probably would have squealed. “You two are exactly the sort of people we are looking for in this trial. My name is Doctor Stentworth but please, feel free to call me Julia.” 

Dean and Sam took seats across the desk from Julia without unclasping hands. The moment they were settled Sam absentmindedly started running his thumb across Dean's knuckles.

“So, how long have you two known each other?” 

Sam chuckled, “I’ve known him my whole life.”

“Yeah,” Dean chimed in. “Our parents knew each other really well and so we grew up together.”

“I see,” she wrote something down on her clipboard. “And how long have you officially been together? Any details about that would be appreciated.”

“Well, Sammy left to go to school after he graduated from high school and he was living with someone there until she died in a fire. I picked him up and we decided to go on a roadtrip together and we’ve been together ever since. That was about three years ago now.”

“I see, and how long was it before your relationship turned sexual?”

Sam had been sipping from the glass of water provided for him and he choked and coughed.

“Sorry,” Dean spoke smoothly. “He is a little shy about talking about our sex life.”

Sam fought down his reaction at hearing the words “our sex life” come out of Dean’s mouth. “It’s ok,” he wheezed. “We’d been fooling around for a while, but we were in a car accident with my father. He died and Dean was in a coma for a while. I realized how much he meant to me and it really started to pick up then.”

“Excellent, yes you two are exactly the kind of candidates we are looking for. Now if you will follow me, I will get you hooked up to measure physical response,” Julia smiled and stood.

Sam’s reflexively squeezed Dean’s hand.  
Julie noticed his nervousness. “I won’t push you beyond what you are comfortable with. We don’t need to record full sexual intercourse but the more data we get from your foreplay practices, the better.”

Dean smiled confidently. “Of course.” He gripped Sam’s hand firmly when he started to tremble. He really should have read the fine print. But it was too late now, and they really did need that money.

The process was quick and painless, electrodes were placed to measure brain waves. Each was hooked up to a heart monitor and the technician took a quick blood sample, explaining that another would be taken after they finished to track changes in blood chemistry. Then he and Sam were left alone in the room, camera lights blinking from the corner.

Dean held out his hand to his brother and Sam allowed himself to be pulled close. Dean brushed Sam’s hair from his forehead and brushed his lips against it. “We can still back out if you need to,” he whispered.

“It’s ok,” Sam whispered back before tilting Dean’s head up gently for a sweet, chaste kiss.

And then it was as if a switch flipped. Dean’s head was spinning as Sam devoured his mouth, then moving, kissing Dean’s jaw and neck, gently biting his earlobe, sucking hard over Dean’s pulse point. Dean could only hold on tight and let the waves of pleasure wash over him as Sam took him apart. Finally Sam ground his hips against Dean and Dean cried out brokenly as he came in his pants. And then Sam stepped back, both of them breathing hard, barely aware of the staff returning and thanking them for the excellent data they gathered.

Later that night, Dean sat alone on the Impala’s hood, wondering how to define exactly what had changed since this morning. And Sam followed, pressing up close against his brother, hard line down his thigh pressing insistently into Dean’s hip. “You know,” he whispered huskily as he once more laced his fingers with Dean’s, we probably ought to keep up appearances.”


	3. Cursed to be Mermen

Dean really should have known better. The Men of Letters were notoriously sparing with the warning labels so really, it was logical that anything they could not identify with 100% accuracy should not be touched with a 10 foot pole...and should MOST DEFINITELY not be used to prank innocent, unsuspecting little brothers. But really, what could be so bad about a jar of 100 year old fish eggs? Obviously some posh bastard had set it aside for a snack and forgotten about it or maybe died before getting to it. But his loss was Sammy’s...well Sammy’s loss too. Dean chuckled as he remembered the putrid scent of the goo as he had packed it into Sam’s preferred shower head. But it would be DEAN’S gain when Sam got a face full of fish water and forgot his towel on the way out of the bathroom to go tackle his brother.

And so he was surprised when the angry shout of his name was not followed immediately by an armful of naked, angry brother but rather a heavy thud followed by an odd flopping sound and a pained groan.

“Shit, Sammy?” Dean barged into the bathroom and stopped in shock. Sam as a wet, naked human was pretty damn hot, hence the reason Dean was risking anger and injury in order to catch an unfettered glimpse of his body, but Sam as a merman, with a 12 foot, scale encrusted, blue and green, honest-to-god mermaid tail, well he was glorious.

“Dammit, Dean, what the hell did you do?” scowled Sam.

Dean could only stare.

“Could you close your fucking mouth and figure out how the hell to fix this?” Sam ranted.

“Uh yeah,” Dean looked shamefacedly at his brother.

Sam sighed. “What’s done is done. Bring me whatever the hell you used that smells this bad and maybe I can figure out how to get myself back to normal.”

Dean turned and ran from the room. By the time he dashed back and skidded into the room, Sam had turned the shower back on and was hunched, dejected beneath. “I started to dry out,” he pouted and held up an arm covered in white blisters. Dean started to dash forward but Sam waved him off. “Don’t come any closer. We’re completely fucked if you change too.”

Dean groaned loudly. At Sam’s quizzical look, he started grumbling. “If you can’t be allowed to dry out, you can’t touch any books or your laptop. Now I have to do all the research.” He left the room to Sam’s laughter.

He came back sheepishly a couple of hours later. “I’m so sorry, Sammy but you’re going to be stuck like this for a week or so.”

Sam laughed hysterically for a couple of minutes while Dean looked on, trying to handle the guilt. “I can’t stay in the shower for a couple of weeks, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know. But we have that pond out behind the bunker. It’s pretty clean. It’s got decent fishing. And no one comes out this way so you shouldn’t be seen. We’ve got that flatbed trailer in the garage. We’ll just wrap you in a couple wet blankets and get you into the water. You’ll swim around for a little while, commune with nature, enjoy a good, raw food, organic diet and then when it’s time, we’ll change you back.” Dean was trying to make his voice sound light but Sam could tell he was worried.

“And how do we do that when the time comes?” Sam asked in trepidation.

“Well, I don’t know how much you know about mermaid mating habits…” At Sam’s snort, Dean pushed on. “Well, there are elements of both fish and human reproduction, so the females eject the eggs, the stuff in that jar, into the waters of the mating ground, the males swim through and absorb it into their skin and fertilize them inside their bodies. Once they’ve had a chance to begin growing, they need to be...implanted back into the female’s body.”

“Where the hell are we supposed to find a female mermaid?” Sam shook his head.

“Well...we can’t...but the spell should be satisfied so long as the eggs go from you into a reasonable host…and it’s my fault…”

“Shit,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah,” Dean replied.

And so it was that a couple of weeks later that Dean found himself disrobing on the shore of the pond and slipping into the cold, deep water. And Sam swam up from below and wrapped that glorious shining tail around his brother and pulled him close. It hurt, of course it did, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from hardening at the thought of what...and who was filling him. Sam sucked an open-mouthed kiss at the juncture of Dean’s neck and shoulder as he felt the last of the eggs leave him. Dean grunted and came into the open water as he was stuffed full. He was drifting lethargically as Sam pulled him out of the water, grabbed the towels set out on the shore, and led him back to the bunker, strong, wet legs wobbling as they adjusted once more to standing. He didn’t stop until he was tumbling them both onto Dean’s memory foam mattress.

They ended up tangled together, Dean’s back against Sam’s chest, with Sam’s arms wrapped possessively around him, one strong hand cradling Dean’s lower belly. “Mine,” Sam whispered into the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean felt warm and heavy and satisfied. His belly twinged and cramped at Sam’s whispered claim. And he wondered just what he had done.


	4. Last Summer Before Stanford

Sometimes Dean felt like he was two different people. There was the Dean in his head, brave, bold, unafraid to say all the things that burned within him. And then there was the visible Dean, Dad’s jacket, Dad’s car, Dad’s music, and Dad’s emotional constipation.

And now Dean is looking at the end of his universe in the form of a piece of paper with the Stanford letterhead and unimaginable words like “congratulations,” “accepted,” and “full scholarship.” And he knows the words that he needs to say: “I’m proud of you,” “well done,” “I will do everything I can to make sure that you succeed.” But they got strangled down by Dad’s little soldier. “What the hell, Sammy? Dad’s gonna flip.”

And later, Sam is begging to stay in a little Wisconsin town. He has a full-time job at a grocery store. It’s minimum wage but he needs money for books and emergencies. And the words are on the tip of Dean’s tongue. “I’ll explain to Dad,” “I’m sure there are enough hunts around here to keep us busy,” and “I support you.” But instead: “You know that people are dying.” 

And finally, the night comes when it is time for Sam to go. Dad is screaming and shouting and disowning. Sam is looking at Dean, heart in his eyes. “Come with me,” his beautiful little brother pleads. “There are monsters in California. We can make this work.”

And everything in Dean cries out: “Don’t leave me,” “stay,” and buried deeper, “I never want to leave you,” and “I love you.”

But Dean stiffens at his father’s shouted command, stealing himself against Sam’s barely contained tears, and looks away. He cannot watch Sam leave them, duffel slung over his bony shoulder, lanky legs eating up the gravel road as he runs from everything he has never known toward everything he has ever dreamed.

And Dean sits on the front step of the rundown cabin, looking as Sam’s footprints in the dust are slowly erased by the wind, and he takes every unspoken word, every time he had looked at his brother with longing in his eyes, every aborted caress, and he shoves them down deep and locks them away and throws away the key.


	5. Hypothermia in July

Sam turned around and his brother was gone. “Dean!” he shouted and cursed. “Fucking ghost.” He peered through the dimly lit space and wished like hell that his flashlight bulb hadn’t broken. He heard a clatter from the opposite end of the echoing warehouse. His first instinct was just to dash across but the ghost had left before Sam could disperse it with the salt and it could be back at any moment. And with a serial killer in a meat packing plant who had strung up his victims on meat hooks and butchered them, Sam knew he could not let his guard down for an instant.

His senses were on high alert but it wasn’t enough. The ghost of Seymour Hackeldesh materialized through the wall behind him and Sam screamed as a rusted meat hook was forced through his right shoulder, tearing muscle and scraping bone. There was a clanking of chains and suddenly Sam was hoisted off his feet. He sobbed once, brokenly, before mercifully losing consciousness.

* * *

His face was wet with tears when he finally came back to consciousness. Seymour was nowhere to be seen and Sam knew that he couldn’t afford to hang around any longer. It hurt to turn his head but he pushed through it in order to see what he could do. It looked like the damn ghost had shoved it in front to back, hooking it under his collarbone and out his trapezius. There was no way he could just tear himself off it without shattering his collarbone and doing serious muscle damage. He would have to pull it out.

Sam breathed deeply and steeled himself for the pain. His right arm was weak but he could use it so he reached overhead with his left arm and gripped the chain above him, pulling himself up with on arm until he could get the slack off the hook in his shoulder. He fought to keep hold of his consciousness as he slowly managed to raise his right arm and grasped the hook. He doesn’t really remember ripping it out but came back to himself crumpled on the ground, a pool of sticky blood pooling under his shoulder, his teeth set in his ragged, bleeding lip, and no concept of how much time had passed since he had last seen his brother.

The time for caution was over. Sam pulled himself unsteadily to his feet and shakily managed to put his right hand in his jacket pocket in an attempt to stabilize his shoulder. He found his shotgun on the ground not far away and thanked whatever luck he had that he hadn’t yet fired it. He staggered across the floor to the place he had heard the noise earlier, coming upon the door for a walk-in freezer. He cried out again as he forced the door open, nearly collapsing in relief as he saw Dean, shivering, lips blue, but still holding onto consciousness and otherwise unharmed. He shoved the door open farther, letting in the scorching July heat from the warehouse. 

Dean’s teeth chattered as his face relaxed in relief. “S-s-s-sammy? B-b-b-body. S-s-s-salted already...b-but lost my l-l-l-lighter.” and he stretched out a trembling hand toward the crumbling skeleton in the corner. Sam moved as quickly as he was able, so damn thankful that his own lighter hadn’t fallen out of his pocket. Seymour began to coalesce in the corner but it was already too late as the fire quickly consumed his bones.

Sam practically crumpled next to Dean, the cold of his skin practically burning after the stifling heat of the warehouse. And he tried to keep it together but his vision was swimming and the heat of fever in his blood was rising and choking out any energy he had left. “Sorry, Dean. Tried,” he muttered before closing his eyes against the spinning world.

He felt himself being manhandled. “C-c-c-come on, little brother,” the most familiar voice. “G-g-g-gotta work with me here.”

And Sam marshalled all his strength to pull to his feet and stagger in the direction that Dean was leading him. He was out again the moment that he was allowed to collapse into the passenger seat of their sun-warmed car.

* * *

The next time he came back to himself, he was tucked up in bed, head floaty with painkillers, shoulder bandaged and arm trapped between his chest and the back of a warm, sleepy, very naked Dean. He became acutely aware of his own state of undress and the fact that certain parts of himself were very ok with this entire situation. His left arm was casually slung over Dean’s waist, and maybe it was the painkillers, maybe it was the relief that they were both here, alive, but Sam felt his hand skating down Dean’s flat abs to find that Dean was just as hard as he was.

Dean sighed and thrust minutely into Sam’s hand. And Sam knew he should stop. They had danced around their feelings for years now and there was still time for Sam to move away, pretend it was an accident, go back to pretending he wasn’t watching when Dean forgot his towel again, and that he wasn’t jerking off with those images in his head later. But Dean moaned gently and Sam tightened his hand and began to stroke. He rutted between Dean’s thighs, chasing his own release. It was over embarrassingly quickly for both of them. And when it was over, Sam steeled himself as he waited for Dean to freak out, to jump out of bed, maybe to punch him. But Dean just turned around, eyes soft in their post-orgasmic haze. He gently pushed Sam over onto his back, hand warm on Sam’s chest.

“That’s one way to cure a case of hypothermia,” Dean grinned as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam’s.


	6. Late Night Confessions

Sleeping in the Impala was hard. Sam was much too tall to stretch out anywhere, even though he always got the back seat and didn’t have to worry about working around the steering wheel. But every time they did it, he would sleep fitfully, he was usually too cold or too warm to stay sleeping and then of course, there was the waking up. His knees would cramp and his arms would fall asleep and his neck would crack, pop, and/or grind the moment he tried to stretch it. And Dean was always in too much of a hurry to get food in his stomach to wait for Sam to properly stretch out and get his blood pumping. It always took him at least two hours to feel like his bones and joints had returned to their optimal position.

But Sam never hated the nights they spent in the car. They usually started with deserted fields with no lights for miles and hours spent lounging on the hood of the car, drinking beer until long after the heat of the engine had cooled. These nights were nights of starlight and moonlight and the sound of crickets, and reclaiming the darkness from the monsters who inhabited it. And Dean was different too. Daytime Dean was brash and loud, rock music pounding through speakers. And hotel Dean was standoffish and always heading out for a drink. But this Dean was none of those things. This Dean was open and vulnerable. This was the Dean that could tell Sam he was proud of him, that he loved him. This was the Dean that could admit the things he would never speak in the daylight.

And the moments were different too. Seconds and minutes passed so quickly out there, when they were always heading to the next hunt or trying to forget the last one. But in the Impala, all the moments hung in the air, each an opportunity full of potential. And every once in awhile, the perfect moment would arise. Like the one where Sam finally told Dean he was gay, or the moment when he had told his brother that he was leaving for college. 

And tonight was different. Another moment had come along and there was no sense wasting it. Tonight was the night that Sam said I love you and Dean said I’m in love with you and everything was finally perfect.


	7. Adoption

Dean sighed as fingers combed through his hair, pulling him easily from sleep. He rolled onto his back to see Sam hovering over him. Dean smiled sleepily and pulled him down for a lazy morning kiss. Sam indulged him for a while but the moment Dean tried to start something a little more in depth, he whined deep in his throat and pulled back.

“I want nothing more than to stay in this bed with you all day, but it’s today. Don’t you remember?” Sam sighed and rolled out of bed. Dean shot up and was out of the bed in a flash. 

“Shit, you’re right! I almost forgot,” he grinned widely as he hunted around for his boxers. Apparently Sam had thrown them with extreme prejudice the night before. Finally he found them draped over the lamp and, after a cautious sniff test, deemed them wearable for at least one more day. He looked back at Sam only to realize that his brother had already showered and dressed before slipping back into bed to wake him gently. “I guess you couldn't sleep, huh?” 

Sam shook his head. “Of course not. We've been waiting for this day for so long. I was just so worried we were forgetting something.” 

Dean pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips. “You've got this. You're prepared. The room is great. You've got enough stuff for 15 babies.” 

“Do you think we can do this? Can we really be parents? It's not like we've had much in the way of role models,” Sam whispered, brow furrowed.

“We had Bobby, and we still have Jody. It's enough. Family by choice is still family,” Dean kissed Sam again, slower this time. 

Sam smiled again before reaching for his cane and limping heavily from the room, long pant leg never quite able to cover the prosthesis. Dean found himself thanking God, or whoever was listening, for the hundredth time that the creature had only taken Sam's leg instead of his life, sending the boys into a life of domestic bliss instead of putting Sam in the ground and leaving Dean to follow at the earliest convenience. 

“Coming, Dean?” San popped his head back in through the doorway.

“Hell yes,” Dean chuckled. “It's time to go meet our daughter.”

* * *

It went by in a blur. Soon Sam and Dean were sitting in the hospital, finding it very difficult to remain in the waiting room when they knew that their baby was so close. 

But finally it was time. Sam entered the room first, immediately sitting down to make himself comfortable. And then the most beautiful baby girl he had ever seen was placed gently into his arms. And all Sam could do was cry. 

Dean came up behind his brother and just held him, reaching forward to cradle his whole family in his arms. And he would be lying if he said that he didn't also wipe some tears away. 

“There are just a few things for you to sign. Anella has already signed everything,” Jody came in next with a sheaf of paper. Anella was one of many wayward daughters that had crossed Jody's path. She had gotten pregnant at 16 and shortly after, her entire family had been killed by demons. And suddenly being a mother seemed impossible.

But she had been willing to give up her child for a better life. With Sam out of hunting permanently, Dean jumped at the chance to fulfill both their dreams and become a father.

“Oh my God, look at her,” Sam whispered. He tenderly stroked her cheek and she turned into the touch. 

The nurse had entered the room when no one was paying attention. “Do you want to feed her?” She asked, handing Sam a warmed bottle of formula. Sam took it from her hand and watched raptly as his baby girl latched on to the bottle and started to eat.

Dean knelt down again and pressed a soft kiss to Sam's hair. “What are we going to call her?” 

“How about Charlotte? Charlotte Mary Winchester,” Sam looked up at his brother.

“I like it,” Dean smiled softly. “Our own little Charlie.” 

“Charlie Winchester sounds perfect,” Sam whispered. And they sat there in silence, listening to the soft sounds of their very own daughter.

* * *

Later, they were all tucked up into bed. Their first day had not been without hiccups. Sam swore there was a permanent echo of Charlie's screams imprinted on his ear drums after she had expressed her displeasure at the clumsy way he handled a diaper. But now she slept deeply, cradled in his arms, holding on tight to one large finger. 

Dean leaned over and kissed Sam sweetly. “Are you happy, Sammy?” 

“Very.”


End file.
